Pikes Peak at Dusk

One cloud in the midsummer west blazes

in the dusk above the silhouette of hills.

The dome of Pikes Peak at the northern end

of the softened skyline surprises me.

It is not now the awesome snowcapped giant

that catches first light

and lifts the heart as well as eye

on winter mornings.

Nor does it seem close as Pike thought it was

when he decided, twenty miles

and two centuries from here,

that the summit was a short walk away.

I know that darkening knob

is a long day’s climb on a good trail that

starts two days march from Pike’s departure point

Greenhorn marks the southern end

of this apparent range gentled by dusk.

The hills seem to drop away

from both sides to the very river

Pike was supposed to be following.

There is no hint, from here, of the great gorge

cut narrow and a thousand feet deep

through solid rock by that river

crashing now with spring melt.

It is quiet here. The world seems to slip

into a promised evening peace.

I know the mountain and river

will rise again next morning.

Jeff Arnold